


Red, Red, Red

by livii



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livii/pseuds/livii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't trust metal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red, Red, Red

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Treat for KC in Yuletide 2008. Title is from the song by Fiona Apple.

He doesn't trust metal. Metal killed most of humanity; metal forced the survivors underground, fighting for their lives in a ravaged landscape still contaminated by nuclear fallout.

Metal killed Kyle.

He thinks this to himself as Cameron works over her guns: cleaning, repairing, letting them rest in her upturned palms, testing their weight. He thinks this to himself as he watches her fingers make nimble work, as he watches her shirt ride up as she bends over the table, revealing the soft flesh of the small of her back.

"Enjoying the show?" Cameron asks, without turning. She smiles to herself - more of a smirk, really - and he fights down the rage that builds inside him. He knows she's just parroting something she learned somewhere. She's just metal. She can't have the upper hand; it's not possible. She's just one of her guns. She's just a weapon to be used.

 

*

 

He doesn't trust metal. It's built to look human; it's built to trick the unsuspecting into letting it in close, influence them, burn them, kill them.

Metal killed Kyle.

He thinks this to himself as he sits across from Cameron in the cold, cramped room. They're waiting for Sarah's call, waiting for three hours already, the rain steady against the windows of the little shack, and he's damp and uncomfortable and really wishes she would stop fucking staring at him.

"Your tattoo," she says calmly, pointing at the dragon on his arm. "What does it mean?"

"A girl told me it would make me look stronger," he replies, with a small smile. "And after getting this one - " he indicates the bar code with a crude, jerky gesture - "it felt damn good to put something on my skin that I chose."

"That makes sense," she says, still staring. He realizes he's actually just had a conversation with the metal.

"Shut the fuck up," he says. The phone rings a moment later. He tries not to think about it anymore.

 

*

 

Three bullets - one through the upper thigh - blood everywhere - fuck - dragging himself back to the truck - leg won't work - fuck.

Above him comes a vision, an angel: a tiny brunette with a machine gun. She does her holy work with ruthless efficiency.

"I can manage," he grunts, when she's finished and is lifting him into the truck. She shakes her head and props him up, straps on his seat belt.

"You've been injured," she says. "I will perform the necessary surgery on your leg back at the house. Hold on for now."

He stares at her as she drives. He holds on. He does not die.

 

*

 

He doesn't trust metal. Metal is alien; metal doesn't think like humans, doesn't feel like humans, is only a tool to be exploited to Tech-Com's advantage.

Metal killed Kyle.

He thinks this to himself as Cameron moves on top of him, skin soft as anything under his fingers, pussy as tight and wet around his cock as the best he's ever had.

"Why'd they build you like this?" he asks as he pinches one of her nipples. She jerks her body, clenches him tighter.

"What good would we be if we couldn't feel?" she replies.

He flips her over, then; fucks her hard, bites her skin. She doesn't complain. He comes with a shout, with a long shiver of relief and revulsion.

"Are you happy now?" she asks. He notices that she didn't come. He briefly wonders if it was his fault, could be his fault.

"This doesn't mean anything," he says, standing up. "This is nothing. You're nothing. A man's got to fuck, though. Better with metal than anything good, I guess."

"Okay," she says, nodding her head. She's still lying there naked, small bruises swelling up on her skin. "I could kill you in the blink of an eye," she continues. "But John wouldn't want me to. You are safe with me, Derek Reese."

He doesn't trust metal. Metal can turn; metal can be damaged, can go bad, can kill them all again and again and again.

He nods back at her, a sharp, short motion.

He thinks he'll pay for this, somehow, somewhere. He doesn't trust metal. He decides to relax his rules, just for now.

 

*

 

She is, to the last, true to her word.


End file.
